


passivity

by skaggirl



Series: this thing of darkness [1]
Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Apocalypse, Canon-Typical Misogyny & Racism, Dubious Consent bc it's Dorian Gray we're talking about, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, POV Third Person, POV Victor Frankenstein (mainly!), Past Character Death, References to Addiction, References to Drugs, and a lil bit of emotional manipulation to top it off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-06-16 06:28:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15431007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skaggirl/pseuds/skaggirl
Summary: Polyamorous Jekyll/Gray/Frankenstein Apocalyptic AU set during the uninterrupted ‘Perpetual Night’. Everything is dying but Victor finds life in friends new and old. A melting pot of indulgent themes + practical angst.'Passivity' picks up where season 3 leaves us and is primarily focused on Victor’s budding relationship with Dorian.Yes, he would stay until morning—not that one could much tell the difference between night and day anymore. He would stay not because he needed to, but because he wanted to. His talking with Dorian made him content. Touching Dorian, and feeling a closeness with him that Victor rarely entertained in his relationships, made the pursuit of his friendship something that roused him.





	1. passivity pt.1

_Here is how the end of all things began:_ On the first day, most Londoners only vaguely began to realize how the dark had spread overnight like disease. The sun never shown in the morning, nor set on the night following. By that point, the fog was past looming and terror was well past impending. It would be the rainfall before the flood, followed then by an even greater storm.

These patterns repeated day after day. The streets seemed impossibly blanketed in something like soot, nothing would wash out, and the people eventually stopped leaving their homes unless it was absolutely necessary. One could hardly walk a block across the street without a full mask, or some other kind of lung protection. For an inexplicable reason, every corner turned would smell like something foul burning. Most people turned a blind eye to it, somehow—perhaps the easiest road taken is the one with an optimistic outlook. The papers predicted that the air would grow thicker by the month. Some said that it was only a temporary phenomenon, and would surely clear up soon. Sensationalism had its worst effect on those who were exceptionally inept, feeling more hopeless than ever before. Their paranoia set in as soon as they acknowledged how only Hell could be this cold and dark so often.

The issue was that a heavy and impenetrable veil now covered their sun, and without access to the sunlight, crops would fail; without crops, people would starve, or depend heavily on slaughter. But what would feed the livestock? Where would the casualties go if not to rot? No world could sustain itself on flesh alone. Over time, those sick Londoners would die, and the healthy ones would take their place on their deathbeds. If biology couldn’t miraculously overcome this sudden loss of vital nutrients in the environment, humankind would be reduced to the feeble shells of what it used to be. Every word spoken in every conversation insinuated that this was the start of the Apocalypse.

Of course, Victor Frankenstein was no exception to the mass. He’d always been a cautious person. Except to visit the market occasionally, where the vendors’ goods grew scarcer every week, Victor decided to focus his attention entirely on his work, in a weak attempt to forget the plague that was dawning outside his laboratory. At least, within the walls of his apartment, nothing could penetrate him as deeply as a step outside it would. He could study the sick and the already dead. The role of resigned undertaker fit most naturally.

But Victor feared, deeply, for a variety of reasons: Firstly, he hadn’t spoken to anyone meaningful but Henry—and then their accomplice, Dorian—in entire months. Without the companionship he’d grown accustomed to, he felt pitifully alone and desperate for stimulating contact. But Henry was at Bedlam the last that Victor saw him, and Bedlam, that infamous hospital, was miles away and impossible to reach in the current condition. Instead, Victor visited his friends at 8 Grandage Place on a weekend, but was disappointed to not receive an answer when he knocked. Sir Malcolm was in Africa, last Victor had heard, and Ms. Ives was nowhere to be found, as with Ethan Chandler. He failed to make contact with them in every attempt following that day, and eventually stopped trying, because the trying soon depressed him similarly as the disappointment that followed. He attempted to make peace with the concept of being both alone and lonely at once.

Yet, before the darkness came, loneliness had never been such an issue for Victor. Perhaps that correlation was false… perhaps it was that he had recently said goodbye to a lover and an old friend that was hammering at his chest. It seemed as if he had bid farewell to a person he desperately wanted, and so the world closed in around him in punishment. Victor’s restless thoughts grew more outlandish every time he allowed a new one in.

But then, he could always have his science if not his friends.

After some time, a majority of Victor’s studies would turn up inconclusive—meaning that, perhaps, he couldn’t conquer his own death if he ever needed to. He aimed to discover every possible method of harnessing the life-giving power that brought his Lily back from the dead.

Though his creatures could seem like cruel and heartless beasts, he knew now that they were stricken deeply with a pain that he couldn’t comprehend. This was a pain of utter abandonment like his own—that nobody could ever possibly share their experiences, nor sympathize with any part of them. Victor would not want to live an afterlife such as theirs. So, while the thought of eternity tempted him, Victor chose rightly not to concern himself with the possibility of it ever belonging to him. He’d rather die a peaceful death, he thought, if not a just and due one. He’d rather take every last life on this Earth than doom another to eternal unrest. This discovery put him into a rut. He couldn’t shake his nerves for the life of him, and it was becoming increasingly complicated to not return to narcotics use even after the struggle he suffered last attempt to break his habit.

Victor visited a chapel, to his own surprise, and truly prayed for the first time in his life. The quiet city seemed to be malfunctioning more with each new day. Color faded from every person’s body, and the few church-goers were the last vibrant people he had seen. Connectedness, Victor learned, was the cure to all ails. 

He bundled himself in many layers and finally left his apartment again after two long months of darkness, because he could no longer occupy himself with inconclusive studies and his own aimless chatter. He had decided to visit Dorian Gray. Luckily, Mr. Gray lived some 20 blocks away and was somewhat accessible, and what motivated Victor was desperation so fierce that he would sooner scale an entire mountain than spend another day alone.

When Victor arrived, he could hardly believe the change in scenery. This part of town found itself much less down and out than the shabby apartments that Victor lived in. Whores still walked the streets, some of them Lily’s girls who would likely rather be taking men's limbs than succumbing to them. A few dark figures roamed like shoppers on a lazy day. Where Mr. Gray lived, there was little to see but the light of street lamps, but the man’s estate was surprisingly lively, with soft music echoing through its chambers, and warm light that comforted Victor when he was invited into its foyer from the wintry outside. He hadn’t prepared for his response once he actually approached Mr. Gray. He had put little thought into his action, and was blessed when Dorian willingly allowed him into his space even though Victor had no good reason for being there.

The two men had grown somewhat closer than mere acquaintanceship during their endeavors with Lily. However, they had never corresponded outside of the social situations that they were willed into. Victor began to regret his choice nearly as soon as he stood in Dorian’s entryway, because he had forgotten that he was a shy person by nature, but he reminded himself: _connectedness_.... and _necessity_. The fact of the matter was that no person could spend a whole life alone with their self… and if that meant for him that he would have to befriend Dorian Gray, Victor preferred that future to the one he was currently headed toward.

Dorian, on the other hand, seemed almost excited to see Victor, and offered him any wine he favored, any bread or cheese if he was hungry. Denying Dorian’s company now would mean settling with the unfortunate possibility that he might be bored out of his wits for the end of the world, which Victor couldn’t possibly cope with. So, he let Dorian’s servant decorate a cheese platter, and then they went about their visit like any other one might have gone in the past.

“How have you been passing these gloomy days, Doctor?” Dorian was particularly vibrant when he facilitated conversation. When he wasn’t speaking, at least in Victor’s eyes, he looked his most unapproachable.

“Well, as I am sure you can imagine, I have an endless amount of scientific inquiries.” His host lead Victor onto a velvet settee in the center of a large hall. The expansiveness of it seemed mostly daunting to the significantly poorer man. Even beside Dorian’s massive fireplace, he internalized the coldness of the marble.

Dorian dropped onto the sofa beside Victor with a boyish giddiness. He grasped at Victor’s hands and nearly scared him out of his skin. “Oh, you _will_ tell me about your work, won’t you?” His eagerness came as no surprise. After all that the both of them had witnessed when they planned to repair that part of Lily that had broken, it would hardly be inappropriate for Dorian to consider himself a business associate (or perhaps a co-conspirator). To see someone so driven by the pursuit of knowledge was charming to Victor—the first indicator that he might have something principal in common with the other.

“Of course,” Victor concealed a tinge of nervous blush, “though I would have no clue where to begin, if I must be honest.”

Dorian smiled, “In due time, then.”

The gangling doctor had not a clue where to begin, nor how to continue once Dorian let go of his tingling hands. Suddenly the settee seemed too narrow for two adult bodies and their closeness made Victor grasp at any distance he could force between them. He could not manage any eye contact when the other man’s gaze was so piercing. Self-doubt flooded Victor’s mind, nearly causing him to collapse in on himself, but Dorian sensed this and leaned away from Victor so as to grant him the distance he needed. Oh, how brilliantly Victor’s mind cleared once he was given proper space to breath.

Quickly, Dorian drew up a new subject: “I have yet to hear from Lily, but that shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone. What a shame that is… she was quite remarkable in her own right, and I am sure I will never forget her.” Dorian assured Victor that him and Lily shared one final goodbye, after Victor gave her the freedom she begged for. It seemed as if they had both been entirely alone since the last time they were together.

Save for his portraits and a phonograph, Dorian likely had no company left to entertain himself with, and this thought both hurt and excited Victor since it was definitely the cause of Dorian’s unusual amiability, which Victor could not have inspired on any other occasion. He apologized to Dorian that he was probably a dull guest. Nonsense, Dorian promised.

They chatted casually for a while, until Victor became exhausted by the indifference with which they pretended that this was any other time before the past few weeks. Dorian made a suggestive few comments which Victor chose to ignore, the anger brewing inside of him slowly. Luckily, however, Victor was never good at keeping his negative thoughts at bay. He quickly let Dorian know all of the doubts he had about their companionship: how they were utterly different people, though Dorian disagreed and even claimed that they were quite the same. He suggested that, at some point, he’d been the exact manner of juvenile as Victor was and continued to be—the other couldn’t understand this sentiment, since they certainly weren’t that far apart in age.

 _Or, maybe, in another life…_ Victor revisited an earlier time, when he’d been willing to hurt Dorian, even kill him if it meant regaining Lily’s favor. How ridiculous it all seemed now. Back when passions burned brighter than rationality, Victor always seemed to side with what his heart inclined him to do.

Luckily, Dorian seemed to have quickly forgiven him for the distress—or lack thereof. He was even intrigued by Victor now, not bored of his simplicity.

Dorian’s eagerness to be companionate was hardly a surprise given his reputation. What surprised Victor, though not that much, was the genuine passion that Mr. Gray had for literature and also, ultimately, poetry. The two were able to discuss the famous romantics for hours. Dorian sipped pungent absinthe while his guest sampled everything he offered that was non-alcoholic. The two loosened up to the extent of even placing casual, mutual touches, a rarity for Victor. The young doctor’s voice elevated in ecstasy as he talked. 

Victor felt elated in a way that he hadn’t since college, when he would rave about new discoveries and breakthroughs to Henry, who was once a younger and much less impatient man. This train of thought brought Victor to ask Dorian about his initial impression of Dr. Jekyll—or Lord Hyde, as he was now called. They unanimously agreed that Lord Hyde possessed a uniquely strong will. He could be grossly unsympathetic, yet he’d endured more abuse in his childhood alone than the both of them had endured in their combined lifetimes. Victor couldn’t help but beam as he told Dorian stories of the time they spent together. His reaction seemed to truthfully convey just how much he loved and respected Henry, despite their falling out of touch for so long.

Dorian asked if he had visited Henry since the world had gone to shit, to which Victor responded that he hadn’t. _Why not?_ Dorian asked. He’d been distant since inheriting his father’s title, or Bethlem Hospital was too hard to access, or some other factor. No matter how he justified his errors, Victor understood that his strained relationship with Henry would remain that way at his own fault. But he had wanted to visit Henry, and that remained the truth.

The new topic had spoiled the fun of the conversation, so Victor offered that he might go home, with the promise to visit again soon. The other didn’t object. It only seemed appropriate that their night end here.

Amicably, Dorian guided Victor to his doorstep and helped him with his jacket and scarf. All seemed peaceful until Victor was stopped by his host, who rested a palm on his shoulder. “Would you like to stay the night?” offered Dorian. A guilty smirk affixed to his lips. “I meant for the good of your health,” he reassured, “as most monsters hide behind fog and dark.” He motioned to beyond the doorstep, the fog under the street lamps.

If not for the good of Victor’s health, then surely for Dorian’s own greed. It petrified Victor to consider how many other guests might have stayed the night before him. For what reason? There was no doubt in his mind that Dorian was a most indulgent host.

“I _did_ make my journey over here in complete safety, Mr. Gray.”

“Of course. How foolish of me to ask.” Dorian sounded much more solemn, though that emotion barely crept into his expression. His tragic facade expressed so little but desire. 

Still, Victor experienced a tug of want dragging him back onto the premises, where he might be in another’s soothing company for just a bit longer. The brutality of his current situation only struck him once he began to anticipate its return. He constructed whatever excuse he could manage. “Unless you would prefer that I didn’t leave…” began Victor.

Dorian almost, but not quite, smiled in a way that gave no implication of greed. His delight was quite innocent. “How about if I asked you stay? It’s just that this place only feels like a home when it’s less quiet.”

“Right,” Victor nodded. Without giving a proper answer, he began to remove his layers once again because, in truth, he was trembling at the thought of walking back into that thick black mass. Dorian simply smiled his familiar way.

Victor was almost immediately escorted up the stairway as if to say that what conversations had happened before were now irrelevant, and this would be the focus now. He wished he could be as mercurial as Dorian had always behaved around him. Victor obviously feared rejection of a kind that Dorian couldn’t possibly know. Given the man’s graceful spontaneity, Victor wouldn’t be surprised if he learned that Dorian’s ideas were rarely rejected. All of them were exhilaratingly grand.

Dorian let Victor into a pretty, quaint bedroom that donned red satin bed sheets, and, though it was a guest room, it was near twice the size of Victor’s apartment. The doctor thought it was gorgeous, and beyond what he deserved from any person he called an acquaintance or even a friend.

“You can sleep here for the night,” offered his gracious host, “and I’ll allow you access to the library, if you want it.” Victor hadn’t known that Mr. Gray had a personal library. If appearances were a justifiable basis to judge a man by, Victor would say he looked far too vain to concern himself with more introspective hobbies, though this night had proven Victor’s preconceptions wrong. Still, Dorian admitted, “It’s not fairly large.” The other nodded and waited quietly for something else to come, but both men stood in silence.

The more time spent together in the midst of nothingness, Dorian’s brazen attempts at seduction escalated to an extent that they were unavoidable, and Victor could feel his nervousness from the sweat on his back, knowing that he would have to kindly object to whatever it was that the other man wanted from him. Despite his growing interest in Dorian across the span of the night, he’d never considered any romantic or—God forbid— an erotic connection between the two of them. Dorian’s reputation as a flirt held true. Though the silence was brief, many unspoken words hung between them. Then they surfaced in conversation. “Doctor... I feel as if... the _devices_ you tempt me with... are quite shameful.” Dorian seemed to be choosing his words carefully for such an impulsive statement.

“Devices?” Victor was taken aback by the honesty of the statement. More so than he was a doctor, or a poet, or a bratty young man, he was a fumbling little boy who still understood nothing of love or intimacy. He had no devices. He was repulsed by the thought of his instinctive movements being taken as devices.

“Yes—those that you’re oblivious to. That obliviousness is what makes them so shameful.” Dorian sauntered patiently toward Victor’s stiff body. He nonverbally pleaded—in his eyes and in his composure—that Dorian might move on from the topic before he was inclined to deny him; he would hate to ruin the friendship that he had just worked so diligently on. But what were those devices he spoke of? Why did he seem so certain that Victor was wanting to tempt him? Luckily, Dorian seemed to understand his concern. “I’m sorry,” he divulged, “I admit that I’m too forward. It works to my advantage sometimes—though other people, I’ve realized, are more comfortable leaving those things unsaid.”

Victor felt nearly every muscle in his body loosen. He cleared his throat. “Yes. It’s not that I do not enjoy your company, or that I do not appreciate your generosity…”

“Of course. I understand.” Dorian took a shameless step back, admitting that he may have been too sudden, though he didn’t appear to be shaken by the awkward atmosphere. “Then I will kindly leave you for the night. Do you have anything planned tomorrow morning?”

Victor shook his head no, knowing that he hadn’t had a patient nor a cadaver to dissect since nearly a week ago, and he’d likely be seeking another source of income if business didn’t pick up soon. Still, he had all of the time in the world to rest at Dorian’s lavish estate, or to do whatever Dorian asked of him. Money seemed a more distant concern than ever in this utopia.

“I was thinking that we might have breakfast together.” An eager Victor reveled in the thought of being fed well in the morning. He hadn’t had a proper breakfast since Lily was willing to cook one for him, and that was long before he tried injecting a chemical concoction into her unwillingly.

In sympathy, Dorian added, “That is, if you haven’t been too offended by my lack of propriety.” There was a casual smirk on his face. Victor quickly denied the suggestion. Dorian seemed as eager to please as Victor was eager to be treated. “The harsh truth of it is that I have been alone since this nightmare started, and missing the company I typically keep. Your visit is nothing short of a blessing to me.” So Victor’s suspicions were true.

 _Right_ , he thought. _This is something Dorian’s adapted to doing often. _That possibility soothed Victor’s anxiety about the situation. _Perhaps he propositions all of his guests for sex, and will only be mildly disappointed that I turned him away._ Even then, Victor had to stop himself from fleeing out of fear that Dorian would expect something, anything at all from him that he could not provide.__

__He gazed blankly beyond Dorian in quiet contemplation. Mr. Gray professed: “Then I will see you in the morning, Doctor.”_ _

__“Yes,” Victor replied. Yes, he would stay until morning—not that one could much tell the difference between night and day anymore. He would stay not because he needed to, but because he wanted to. His talking with Dorian made him content. Touching Dorian, and feeling a closeness with him that Victor rarely entertained in his relationships, made the pursuit of his friendship something that roused him._ _

__Yes, he would stay, because the decision to stay seemed most comfortable at that moment._ _

__“And, Mr. Gray?” Dorian stopped in his tracks. “You may refer to me as Victor, if you’d like.”_ _

__It was hard to avoid seeing Dorian’s beaming grin, even with his back turned. He returned to Victor and took his hand, shaking as if this was their first time meeting each other. “Victor—I am known informally as Dorian.” Their given names sounded most natural when spoken to each other._ _

__With that, they celebrated their new companionship through pleasant gazes, firm grasps. Then Dorian finally left so that Victor could rest, and though he was not a dreamer, perhaps even dream on last time of the world they were now leaving behind._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy! I have an extensive list of headcanons for this show that only grows longer with time. This is my first true chaptered fic, so I will try to update as frequently as possible but I sincerely apologize for any delays. Also: please share with me any ideas you have for the future of this fic! I'd like to mend the broken spirits of Penny Dreadful fans by writing something as satisfactory but close to canon as possible.


	2. passivity pt.2

Overnight, Victor had a gruesomely explicit dream—one that he hadn’t actually expected since it had been so long since the last dream, or nightmare, he’d experienced. The dream featured him and Dorian, who was wearing his same wine-colored blouse from earlier that evening, and who had tied Victor’s hands and legs together. In the beginning, Victor seemed to not mind that he was being held captive. Then, soon after, the caricature of Dorian exposed long canines and sunk them into Victor’s bare thigh, which indicated to Victor that he was something vampiric. Victor was slowly drained of blood until his body was completely devoid of definition. He was then untied but found himself incapable of moving, still alive but with no circulation.

Victor was unphased by all of this until Dorian reapproached him and announced a different pursuit: this time he would eat through all of Victor’s flesh, starting from the feet. Victor was struck deeply with fear once he realized that he was utterly helpless. All he could do was watch as Dorian bit through his soles, thoroughly drenched in black blood, peeling back the skin like an orange peel, ripping with his jaw. 

Victor cried out that he wanted Dorian to stop, but the other man chose not to hear. Then they both let go and were in a different place, the ballroom where Dorian hung his portraits, and instead of fighting Dorian, Victor was now holding him, fucking him. He smelled and felt the same as Lily had. Victor pressed him against a wall and rolled their hips together over and over until he felt lost in the sensation of it and could not retain any bit of what Dorian was doing, and if he was still present in that fantasy. And slowly Victor emerged from it all so that he was completely awake, but the dream felt present beside him in bed, and he begged his body to sink back in. His pathetic mind wanted the sensation back.

Of course, Victor never fell back asleep after that. He was hard and wet from the front of his pants to his spine. Luckily, he had stripped down to only flannels, so his mess was discreet enough, but he felt dirty on the basis of it being Dorian’s bed that he was sweating in. It seemed ludicrous that, of all times to have something so embarrassing happen, it had to be the one odd day aside 364 others when Victor had been admitted into somebody else’s house. It was only five in the morning. 

So Victor began to worry. His dream alarmed him—not because of the contents of it, but because it was given to him in the first place. Why was he both so nervous and so at peace? Of course he had never considered a similar sort of arrangement between himself and Dorian, but the concept was starting to not seem far-fetched in the slightest. He considered a multitude of ideas about why Dorian’s proposition to him was not entirely offensive.

One thought was: if the world around him was truly dying, he’d prefer not to die with it having only been intimate with a single person in his lifetime. The thought itself seemed so indulgent and petty that Victor could hardly stand himself for thinking it. Impulsively, he tried to shove it away into the farthest depths of his mind, but was disappointed to realize that he had no other thoughts occupying that space where work or study would typically be enough to distract him. His mind was finally at ease as if time had slowed down entirely. And though Victor liked this feeling of freedom, it left him vulnerable to more unsavory thoughts.

He was attracted to Dorian. That much did not frighten him because Victor believed that everyone was attracted to Dorian Gray by nature. The man was stunning, both strongly effeminate and strongly masculine, so much of both that his self alone was a puzzle to solve, a source of endless intrigue. Dorian had a charisma that Victor would likely never have, but passion much like Victor’s own, and he was seemingly kind and conscious. Though he had made a few immoral choices, Victor established that he had no right to judgement when assessing the other man. Dorian was utterly desirable, and aesthetically flawless. It surprised Victor that he had taken so long to appreciate this aspect of him.

In all of his life, Victor had never wanted satisfaction without work and without ultimate gain. Victor was not a casual person. He had never wanted casual things, and had never pursued anything temporary that would not shape the path of his life in a permanent fashion. His virginity was not a shameful thing to him until it was brought into question, by Satan wearing the face of Vanessa Ives. But then, it was Lucifer himself. Despite not being a godly man, it lifted Victor to know that his silly torment was coming from the deepest evil imaginable. He felt not tragic but ridiculous, pitiful for fearing that his sexuality would mean anything to anyone but himself. Until he made Lily, he had never felt such urgent desire.

Dorian, in contrast, was a person of necessary impermanence. Dorian could have everything he could ever want in the world, and so nothing of his was built to stand time. Victor understood this even without knowing him greatly.

And if he were to proposition Dorian for a similar arrangement as the one Dorian had offered him, Victor would then have to face the immense anxiety of how to please a man, if he could even do so. He had never done much in the way of pleasuring Lily, tragically. That was one aspect of their relationship where he was forced to learn from his mistakes. Formerly Brona, Lily was not unfamiliar with her own body and the extent that she could draw pleasure from it. Victor’s choice to fall in love with her was altogether embarrassing. He had been doomed from the beginning.

If he truly desired the company of another person, Victor figured it was best not to suggest an impermanent arrangement. He could hardly satisfy Dorian as a pet project.

Instead of a release, he sought a steady thrum of fulfillment. Victor would be happiest if he could savor his intimacy with Dorian… what intimacy they had yet to divulge in. If he were to never have sex with Dorian, he would be greatly satisfied, and yet the same could be said of trying this forbidden new thing. Victor wanted to fuck Dorian, or be fucked by him—he could aptly agree with himself on this one thing. But what sacrifices would it take to get there? What worries would he have to face? 

When not in conversation with himself, Victor’s mind always seemed muddied by the thoughts of others. Dealing with the emotions, needs and wishes of another person would nearly always be an impossible task for him. If he could be a better companion, perhaps he would, but, regardless, Victor was tragically unprepared for the task at hand. He simply could not be enough for Dorian. Despite the nature of his interest, Victor would keep away from Dorian so long as he was not readied for the task at hand.

He might understand Dorian intimately while never laying a finger on him. This was a joyous concept for him to consider. _In due time_ , like Dorian had said, what they needed would eventually come to them. And, when it was to come, they would be primarily happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a very short chunk of text, but I figure that's fine so long as the work flows well! I will try to break this fic up into as many small parts as possible so that it won't take me forever to finish each chapter... but I don't want to exclude anything.


	3. passivity pt.3

Dorian personally prepared breakfast, his choice of crepes with a blackberry sauce. Victor could hardly imagine a more perfect meal to summarize the gaudy man.

Then Victor left after breakfast, only because his guilty conscience nagged at him while he also admired Dorian’s elegant figure, dressed in merely a thin gown and silk robe, one with extravagant golden embroidery on it. The robe was showy, as was Dorian’s bare form. Content drowsiness only made him more appealing. It now seemed that so much had changed in a night, and Victor was weaker for it. He could not get his mind to abandon this temptation, though he knew fully well that he could never properly seduce Dorian if he tried, nor carry through with any prolonged contact. It was only wishful thinking. He wasn’t meant for these sorts of things.

Dorian did not hide his hurt when Victor first left. He was bored, plainly put, and wanting something alive to focus on. His servants were practically apparitions. His associates were stiff pricks and his friends had all left him—either that or they never much cared for him in the first place.

Vanessa never wanted him. He had utterly consumed Angelique. And what he stole from Lily in her first life was given back to her in her second: she could learn to live with her anguish, with herself alone. Dorian had nobody because he had granted himself that fate.

He wrote to Victor while the postal service was still operating, though they would soon learn that travel was becoming unbearable for some mail carriers. Sickness seemed to thrive in the open. Dorian asked that Victor come visit him again and plan to stay the night. He would have a meal prepared for them in case Victor was hungry. Victor didn’t hesitate for a second.

Their casual correspondence lasted only a few weeks, being that time was an exhaustible resource nowadays. Victor stayed the night only once more before Dorian truly propositioned him. Before that, they met in the early evening and Dorian shared his only favorite cylinder, that same Liebestod that had enticed the gruff American, Ethan Chandler. Its magic was not lost on Victor, who was, naturally, a fan of the opera.

Dorian asked if Victor might dance with him. His guest despised that ballroom for all its wicked energy, but he agreed to dance for the sake of pleasing his new friend. Dancing reminded Victor of women, and it was strange to coordinate his movements with another person so inclined to move in the same way as him. Their dance was quite clunky. Still, they finished the song together, and Dorian professed his strong love of song and dance, and then of liquor. Victor avoided alcohol and thought nothing of Dorian’s excitability.

“Stay with me,” he howled. Dorian’s words lingered past his sentences, and the smile he gave looked his most youthful.

“Stay with me, Victor... I will give you food, warmth, and an assortment of privileges... comfort should you need it, gratification should you want it…” Victor unclasped their hands where they were still steadying each other to finish their dance. He attempted to pull entirely away from Dorian, though Dorian leaned nearer to him as he moved away. He was busy trying to persuade Victor of his drastic idea. He would not allow him room to breathe. “ _I shall be a servant to your every whim,_ ” he professed.

Victor was honestly stunned, though he had realized how quickly Dorian was beginning to admire him. At glance, it seemed like so little could be shared between them. Victor himself was a paradox: a lowly man with a respectable position, a caretaker but a narcissistic addict. Where Victor was a devil, Dorian was a paper doll. He dressed and played the part of aristocrat, but the mask he wore was practically translucent. Dorian was composed but equally flimsy. He might fall apart if he was wounded too profoundly.

“What about that would satisfy you?” asked Victor with genuine curiosity.

The man allowed himself to think before he responded truthfully. “The most exciting arrangement is, of course, the one that I have yet to try.” Domesticity. That was the name of it.

“Then you would have me constantly. I’m not sure you could manage that.” Dorian acted offended that Victor would suggest such a thing. In fact, he was guaranteed to tire of Victor, but that would not stop him from taking the man in in the first place. Before he would be done with him, they might have many, many hours of fun to get through.

“Dr. Frankenstein,” began Dorian in an antagonizing tone, since he was no longer allowed to use Victor’s proper title when talking to him, “You have no faith in your character.” Victor scoffed. Dorian continued on a rant.

“You already know that I would rather like to bed you, and you seem to disregard that fact every time you remark to me about how pathetically undesirable you are. It exhausts me trying to nourish your ego.” Dorian made a vague annoyed gesture by throwing his arms about. “Why would I ask you to share my home if I didn’t think we were compatible?!” In moments of self-pity, Victor had forgotten to consider himself as essential to other people's methods of living. How Dorian understood so much was beyond his feasible imagination. “I’d like to relinquish all ritualistic formality you insist on. Heavens, you bore me, Victor!” The statement was contradictory of what point he was trying to prove, but it did the trick of making Victor feel guilty.

His honesty was refreshing, but imparted quite a great deal of responsibility toward Victor. Now, if he was to say no, he would certainly put a sore on their relationship. He had no good reason to say no, because everything he had in him wanted to say yes. The only element holding him back from his preferred choice was fear that something may go terribly wrong at any given moment.

But then… what more could go truly wrong?

Victor huffed his annoyance. As a stubborn person by nature, he wanted to say no simply because Dorian wanted the opposite of him. But Victor had been trying to relearn the elements of basic human decency. It was a universal truth that one should not deny all good things to their self and the people they admire. “What would you ask in return?” he asked.

“Not a single thing,” Dorian responded. And it was his honest truth. Dorian never once asked a single thing of Victor, except that he share the days with him when Dorian needed the company of another person.

Victor moved in effortlessly.

Because he had been living alone with a morphine habit, Victor’s cherished items were few. It took him a single night to pack his equipment, books, tools of the trade, sparse clothing and other personal items. The most he ever hesitated was when he realized how he couldn’t possibly move his lab with him—luckily, Dorian promised him space for another one. This one would be even grander, Dorian said. Victor didn’t have the heart to ask where Dorian had inherited his bottomless fortune from.

And the laboratory _was_ grand, no doubt. Dorian had it fitted with gas lights on every wall, never a dim lit area. It had high ceilings with room for a loft, shelving from wall to wall, windows that had surely been filled with light at an earlier point in their life; Victor hardly wanted to believe what his eyes were seeing when Dorian introduced him to it. It was gorgeous as was every other spacious room on Dorian’s property. Though Victor was not nearly as extravagant as Dorian, and could hardly see himself being productive in this shimmering new workspace, he reminded himself that he might learn to belong in one place if he allowed himself to stay in it long enough. No longer could he be fleeting. London made sure to remind him of that fact.

His anxiety about his new commitment to a certain Mr. Gray was not entirely unfounded, at least as Victor personally believed. After all, he _had_ at once feared for his life when he was around Dorian. He had also never tried his hand at being part of anything, aside from when he and Henry once worked together, though that was many years ago. Victor was a sworn individualist. He despised material loves—ones with compromise, always trying to slot yourself in against another rather than embrace the clash of each other’s rough edges. Though he wasn’t in love with Dorian, he was certainly fascinated by him. Dorian was the single most unpredictable individual he had met since he first saw Ms. Ives. If Victor was to eventually love Dorian, even if in the most platonic way, he would certainly not want to compromise any part of himself for Dorian’s gain… and Dorian did not seem to want that from him, either.

They spent many days together while the chaos surrounding them spiraled nearly out of control. Victor occasionally had nightmares surrounding the monsters that Sir Malcolm had first introduced to him. Back then, the world appeared only faintly magical, and not necessarily chaotic like it was now.

Victor slowly overcame his hypersensitivity to every small thing. When he wanted to be, Dorian could be ridiculously affectionate. He frequently teased Victor about being his doting wife, though Victor thought no part of this was comical. Dorian always seemed to be anticipating something—that, someday, he would receive a surprise from the other. Victor understood this but was not offended by it. He grew rapidly comfortable around Dorian, who was always willing to say and do the most necessary to break down barriers between them. Dorian himself had very little boundaries, because he had willfully unlearned his sense of shame.

They engaged in other intellectual pursuits together, not merely surviving their world but in the pursuit of another one. Victor would not submit to doom… at least not yet. Dorian, however, seemed unfazed by the offbeat rhythm of all things left in the world. He’d lived many complex lives, and confusion no longer overwhelmed him. Dorian eventually explained these complicated circumstances to Victor.

Dr. Frankenstein learned not to diagnose an unwilling patient—Dorian had a vast number of complexities, none of which he had ever asked to be prodded at: firstly, he would rarely ever become truly intoxicated. He would play the part, and smelled of rubbing alcohol when he did, but Dorian had a tolerance to drunkenness that went unmatched by any other.

Every so often, Dorian would partake in meditative silences, like daydreaming but more precise. When he wanted to be left alone, he would close a door and lock himself behind it. This was a very private habit of his. He would likely not call it meditation, nor recooperation. It wasn’t introversion but an act of necessary self-allocation. To Victor it seemed likely that Dorian could not be in all places at once, so he rather chose to be in none at all. Unlike how Victor spent moments alone in peace, Dorian’s moments alone made him return to others seeming uneasy. Fixedness was his personal torture. He used introspection as a punishment.

And, when Dorian desired a thing most ardently, he became impatient despite his naturally patient disposition. This spanned hours of his day spent pacing. He would never become noticeably enraged, but he would certainly be more snappy when toyed with, or would seem generally hard to reason with when talked to.

Victor started to become this thing, eventually. He had always thought that it was inevitable.

Due to him being ever-present in Dorian’s life, and Dorian being conditioned to need certain sensations so constantly, Victor had always thought it was inevitable that he would simply need to be _more_ for Dorian, once the other uncovered some potential he saw in Victor.

While Victor _wanted_ all of it, surely, he did believe that it would be their undoing. The inevitability of the thing was what made him so hesitant of all of this in the first place. He had been avoiding the subject for the mere weeks he’d been a welcome guest at Dorian’s home. He had no other place to turn to, and nothing but hell to run to if Dorian no longer wanted him. Victor had become willingly reliant on his fabled Mr. Gray… someone he once feared and distrusted. How ridiculously idiotic of him. Now, if he couldn’t be enough to satiate Dorian’s appetite, he would sooner be dead.

Still, Victor took the task of initiating everything into his own hands. 

Late at night, on one of those days where time seemed least relevant, Victor crept into Dorian’s private quarters when the doors were left wide open enough to seem inviting. His stupendous luck made it so that Dorian was sitting at a dark wooden vanity facing the entrance to the room. Dorian immediately caught sight of him and they peered at each other from across the long room.

Dorian was wearing that same silk robe, and was as intoxicating as he had been that very first time that Victor saw him in it. In his mind, Victor reassured himself with pleasant thoughts and fantasies—he secretly wanted, perhaps even needed, a moment like this to shift them into movement. Then he would subject himself entirely to this other man. Then they would transcend everything together. Then…

Victor struggled to move past the doorway. He stood and looked in apprehensively. Unlike Dorian, he was still dressed in his day clothes. They looked uncomfortably out of place in the dim, dramatic light.

“Hello, Doctor,” said a pleased Dorian Gray. He rose slowly from his stool and approached Victor, who was leaning against the door frame. Victor didn’t dare move. “Do you need my assistance with something?” he asked politely. It was quintessentially Dorian to politely play off any lewd situation.

Victor wouldn’t allow himself to think about it for any more than a moment of painful doubt. His heart drummed in his chest when he reached out to pull Dorian’s face in, perhaps more aggressively than he had initially planned, but Dorian didn’t seem to mind. He kissed Victor back eagerly.

The shy doctor was utterly entranced by the ease with which Dorian touched him, so consistent and drowning. His arms grasped tightly around Victor’s waist. He hushed him when Victor pulled away like he was being bitten, eaten away, and began to overthink their proximity. Dorian did not want to allow him breathing room this time. He selfishly needed Victor to be as close to him as possible.

“Stop thinking,” whispered Dorian into the narrow space between them. Victor had not had the inclination to ever stop thinking. Everything in him willed him to stay thinking, in fact.

But when he stopped… then he was completely submerged. In it, he saw the potential for Dorian to be the one and only presence in his life. He entirely abandoned the thought of Lily, and then abandoned science, and then abandoned fear. All that was left for him was lust and the taste and touch that surrounded him. None of it was too much, anymore—it was essential.

“Can we…” he began but was not sure how to finish. Dorian gazed very deeply and seriously at him. He was awaiting a command. Victor chuckled.

“I suppose I mean… do you truly want this?” Dorian didn’t react immediately enough. He appeared bewildered. Victor hung his head down, practically to the floor. “I haven’t the faintest idea what I’m doing,” he admitted.

Dorian knew that much. Dorian knew far too much about Victor for their relationship to be considered casual anymore. He knew every detail of Victor’s every uneventful day, and he cherished them all. As they were, Victor was his precious, brilliant young doctor. He was a blessing and a trophy.

Dorian began undressing Victor very, very meticulously. He guided Victor to the side of his large bed and plopped him onto it, removing his vest and then his shirt and shoes, and eventually his trousers, while Victor watched in amazement at the show of tenderness. Once Dorian was done, and Victor was sitting in only his pants on the thick corner of the mattress, Dorian removed his robe and climbed atop the other’s lap, just to rest there. He took Victor’s face in his hands and kissed his furled brow.

“Should we rest?” he then asked. Victor took one soft palm in hand and fought back the urge to exhale all his suffocating breath at once.

He kissed Dorian’s sweet hand, cherishing all that Dorian had done to be so kind and patient in his sake. “Will there be more tomorrow?” he asked.

Dorian promised Victor that there would be plenty more, and then some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this chapter! I actually went on a date this week and have been overjoyed with the turnout of that... so a little distracted, but all for the better. That being said, I appreciate the kind comments I've gotten on this work and I'm so excited to be continuing it! I promise some sexy stuff in the next chapter if you're anticipating that (I know I am).


	4. passivity pt.4

Though the entirety of the estate was something to be admired, Victor’s favorite furniture of Dorian’s was easily the large cast iron tub. It had plumbing that ran hot water and it sat elegantly in the center of his washroom. It had a life and personality of its own.

He had spent entire hours of his life holding Dorian in bed since his silent confession united them in spirit and in flesh. He now cherished his close proximity with the other man, who paid tribute to his shyness rather than tease him, like Victor had worried he might. Still, the transition to autumn only made the bed colder, and their combined body heat seemed adequate at best. If Victor wanted to pretend to be healthy, if only for a moment, his best bet would always be to take a long bath. The thing seemed to swallow his small body whole but enveloped him in warmth that was impossible to obtain otherwise. Over many nights, similarly to how Dorian had granted him library privileges, Victor was allowed his time alone with Dorian’s massive tub, and he could hardly remember the time when he lived in his apartment and had no bath at all, only rags and cold running water, as it was now something he considered essential on the basis of him needing comfort to survive. 

Eventually, after many baths he’d taken alone, Dorian asked if they could bathe together for once. Victor felt that sharing Dorian’s filth was a strange but familiar form of intimacy. Sex could sometimes be filthy, as could also be a conversation that turned ill. He didn’t feel hesitant to allow Dorian into that space of his, but he worried that Dorian had ulterior motives. Luckily, the other simply wanted to help wash him. He sincerely liked to care for Victor.

So they did bathe together. They shed each other’s clothing silently, shamelessly despite that one degree of separation between them. They had been naked with each other in all sense of the word… but had never consummated whatever there was left of their romance to affirm. And Victor _appreciated_ that gesture so greatly that he had no room left in his heart to doubt Dorian’s integrity. It wasn’t that Victor was opposed to the idea of being that _style_ of intimate with Dorian… in fact, he wanted it desperately, but not so desperately that his want overpowered the immensity of his anxiety. He frequently pictured Dorian in sensual situations: pleasuring himself, pleasuring others, being his confident self in all sorts of positions where Victor would crumble under the pressure of another person’s gaze. Of Dorian’s character, he was wholly secure in his worth, he had virtually no limitations, and his charm came from how carelessly he could take what he wanted just by asking. He was a typical adonis. And as for Victor—well, he was much more tame in his approach. 

Despite the colossal boredom, it still took him days and weeks of thinking absurd thoughts before Victor decided he might even profess his love out loud. Because that was what it was: as true of a love as he had ever experienced. He had never so thoroughly wanted or needed another person in his adult life. He figured Dorian probably did not feel the same way, which is why he chose not to admit to anything he could not take back if need be. If Dorian rejected him, he would be without direction or aim or anything pleasant.

Victor had yet to confess anything. They continued this routine of bathing, often at night before laying down to rest. It was the last creature comfort they had left, as luxury food was sparse now, too, and they had no precise plan for how to survive the painstaking months ahead of them. Gloom came easily, so comfort, affections, and honest displays of adoration came just as easily. They rarely fought. They had no energy for it. They pined after each other openly, but very quietly.

It was during a bath that Dorian first confronted Victor about something more than mildly unpleasant, but surely something he had been contemplating—Dorian had never adhered to a code of rational politeness, because he much favored honesty. Victor was lying back against Dorian’s chest while Dorian drummed his fingers against Victor’s waistline. They often kept quiet when they were in each other’s company, not because they had nothing left to say but because they had grown tired of talking after so much of it. Open wounds were easier left to fester than to tend to. That is how they operated so smoothly: they transcended their human limits, the need for stimulation and growth. They existed. Plainly. Unconditionally.

But Dorian felt like talking now, as he pondered a touchy subject that Victor might never guess he had dissected from his mysterious character. He asked Victor, “Do you desire women in the same way that you desire men?” It was a subject that the other was guaranteed to have something to say about.

“It is more about the content of their character, is it not?” He rolled his head back so that he could look the other in the face. A response so calculated to be sympathetic was fit for Victor. He was wholeheartedly romantic.

Dorian rammed a nimble fingertip into Victor’s ribcage, causing him to pull away. 

“You cannot help but be wholesome…” 

Victor tsked, “Wholesome? I am only being honest.”

Dorian’s face lit up in utter devotion to the gaunt man, leaning heavily into him like a sack of potatoes, like a refined commodity, existing on this earth only to lounge in Dorian’s lap and advise him on all of the moral quandaries in the world. He reeled Victor back in and nuzzled into the nape of his neck. His arms shielded Victor from all harm that may come to him in that cast iron tub. “I do believe you,” he admitted.

Then Dorian continued: “But do you not think that you love women differently, somehow? Because I often think that about myself—that women and men are entirely different creatures to communicate with.” Victor nodded along to Dorian’s wisdom. His experience with love lead him to believe that it was different for every person. Dorian began dissecting him further. 

“Though I cannot be sure about anything when it comes to you. Your approach to romance is quite meek, isn’t it, Victor? I can hardly imagine that approach suiting a very conventional woman.” He paused for a long period of time and combed his fingers through Victor’s damp hair, brushing his bangs away from his face. Victor merely stared at the nothingness in front of him.. “And so that secret hatred toward women that you conceal: does it stem from desire or from jealousy, that you may never love a woman or may never be a woman?”

Victor gasped. Dorian aimed to expose him by pulling back his skin and parading around some other skeleton that never belonged to him. Like the nightmare Victor had: Dorian surely wanted to devour him now that he had drained him of any will to leave. He almost panicked; he was terrible with confrontation. He immediately assumed the worst.

“Have you already forgotten about Lily?!” Victor yelped.

Dorian laughed maliciously, angling his head around Victor’s shoulder so that he could see his face to confront him. “Lily was a pet! She let me know exactly how you treated her, expecting her to cater to your every desire. How shameful of you to have no more respect for her than if she were one of her whores.”

Victor huffed belligerently, beginning to lift himself to stand before Dorian hugged him tightly around his shoulders and dragged him back down. _Oh, stop it,_ he muttered.

“I was only having fun,” he began, knowing this wasn’t a topic that Victor would submit to readily. His breath touched Victor’s neck, and his lips lazily followed in its path. Every light kiss willed Victor’s tired body back underwater. He had never stopped craving Dorian’s kisses.

Still, his harassment was not appreciated, and no amount of touch could distract Victor from the other man’s terrible intentions. _I was only having fun, _he had said. “Well, I wasn’t,” responded Victor.__

__He _loved_ women. He loved _all_ women. They were divine creatures, and far undeserving of his ugly, lusty, greedy demands. But Dorian was (tragically) accurate in his prediction: Victor had never successfully expressed his love for a woman without driving her away in torment. With his mother, and with Lily, and with Ms. Ives, even, in some small way. But he had only ever loved women until he was allowed to love Dorian. How could he so confidently accuse Victor of something as reprehensible as wanting to inhabit the opposite sex? He had never desired to be anything but himself._ _

__But then Dorian placed his pruned fingers on top of Victor’s thigh, and he began to work inwards while Victor watched them move apprehensively, feeling even more exposed than his nakedness allowed him while Dorian slid his hand into the divot between his inner thigh and ass, just brushing his perineum. Though it wasn’t a very sensitive area, it was as intimate as the nape of his neck or the curve of his back—all places that Dorian loved to touch. Victor did not protest his intrusion. Because he had not asked, Victor had no opportunity to object, and he was almost grateful for that. His heart had already been beating fast, but he willed his breath to slow. So this was to be the first time..._ _

__“I do wonder, sometimes, how it was you obtained her body.” While those fingers fled up to fondle Victor’s sack, he shuddered at the sensation. He sunk deeper into the dip of Dorian’s chest. “I wonder if the resurrectionist asked you to open her up and examine her insides,” Dorian began. The kisses he placed down Victor’s back were wet and gross, and made an unnecessary smacking sound that Victor would typically hate, except that he felt sensationally aroused right now, against his better judgement, and the audible wetness made him leak. “I wonder if you decided that she was beautiful, and you had to keep her for yourself.”_ _

__Victor suddenly clasped his hand over Dorian’s, not to stop him but to guide. While Dorian was leisurely touching him, Victor dragged that limp hand up to wrap around his cock, which had already become profoundly erect. Had he not been so unsure, Victor might have even felt proud at the sight of himself. He directed the other to touch him through a trembling grasp. _Handsome,_ proclaimed Dorian._ _

__“Or perhaps she resembled your lovely mother, and you thought you would revive Lily like you wished you could do for her when you were much younger.” A single, painful sob wracked Victor’s body. He wanted to ask, _How do you know about my mother?_ , except he remembered how he’d blabbed endlessly to Dorian on the first night they spent together. He suspected that Dorian would either be too drunk or careless to remember those little facts. Of course, he knew better now._ _

__“You don’t know a thing about my mother,” cried Victor, though his hips slowly fucked into Dorian’s wrist, and Dorian chuckled. A typical, confident adonis. He could only be so self-assured. Soon, he would have no more observations to make, and then he would have nothing accusatory to say of Victor._ _

__“You thought that elegant Lily resembled the woman you loved the most in the world, so that meant that she would make a perfect wife for you, wouldn’t she?” Dorian’s other hand crept up to grasp Victor’s chest. “You wanted to love but you feared the pursuit of it. The social implications terrified you. You thought you might be a freak of nature, but you were always much more normal than you suspected.” Victor would neither confirm nor deny these statements, though his lack of inhibition proved that the sentiment was something he appreciated. He breathed deep, loud pants as his hips worked hard, his feet barely gripping the slick bottom of the tub. He could feel his flushed cheeks as the warm water mixed with his body heat to make him sweat._ _

__“And maybe you were the one who took her life, in the end.” At that, Victor gripped Dorian’s hand tighter, increasing the friction between his cock and smooth skin. Dorian bit the shell at the back of his ear, then lingered to whisper, “I bet you fucked her corpse afterward.”_ _

__“Stop.”_ _

__“I’m only speaking, Victor. The rest is all your doing.”_ _

__Victor thrusted and swayed around in the warm water. Regardless of how much effort he gave, he couldn’t find that breach of release, the moment he wanted most before he could come and come down, sink back into that keenly desirable comfort._ _

__“I know your body well by now. I know that you were meant for this.” To illustrate his point— _this_ —he teased the rim of Victor’s hole with his thumb, but did not attempt to push in. Victor groaned unabashedly. He wanted to feel those slender fingers inside him... or rather something else, pulsing and probing. He wouldn’t care so long as he had the fragment of another life inhabiting his body; then, and only then, would he feel less than entirely alone._ _

__… Or, no. That wasn’t it. Surely that wasn’t it. Dorian was manipulating his mind with strange magic._ _

__But Dorian had known him too well since the very moment they met. All of the frightening secrets which he’d tried desperately to keep to himself were what fueled Dorian endlessly. He was the only person who’d ever cared to interrogate Victor like this, and that excited Victor, as he was starting to fall more deeply in love with the other with every second. Though Dorian was hasty and brutal when he wanted to attack, he could be quite tender when he chose to go that path, and though Victor knew better than to trust him, he would gladly take every beating if only for his own personal gratification. He shamelessly enjoyed having such brutality done to him. Like how Dorian returned to touching his cock but moved with much more determination. He wanted to see Victor turned inside out._ _

__The other couldn’t do anything more than convulse as he was preoccupied with overthinking every move he made, trying to feel every sensation deeper if at all possible. Dorian’s slim fingers between his legs and around his cock, Dorian’s lips against his neck, Dorian’s thighs around his hips, Dorian stiff and pressed against his tailbone. All of these individual sensations overwhelmed him._ _

__“Are you close?” he asked. Victor replied that he was. “Then say his name and I’ll grant you your wish.”_ _

___His_ name? “Who?”_ _

__Again, Dorian understood too much of Victor for his own good. “The first man you wanted to have do this to you. Do not pretend he doesn’t exist. I want to know his name.”_ _

__Victor hated to hear this. It was another direct attack—except, instead of being malevolent, it was a basic request that was altogether too much for Victor to even consider in this moment. His only focus was on Dorian and what the two of them were doing together. He could not possibly center his mind’s eye on something so ludicrous, so far removed from his life, so deeply buried that he had never even considered the possibility of unburying it. And yet Dorian was asking him to do just that._ _

__Dorian suddenly removed his hand, a dirty trick that he had been meticulously saving for a time like this. Knowing that he had no choice but to comply, Victor finally opened his mind to grasp at the foreign concept. He pictured long limbs and coffee-colored skin surrounding him… that slender body drawing his own in like two magnets… and the feathering of thick, smooth hair against his shoulder. Victor knew how he would smell: something sweet derived from tobacco, and something faint like ivory soap. His hands would be soft, because he was unneededly averse to physical labor. His mouth, if it were ever to kiss Victor, would restore all of the vitality he’d lost to years of distressing distance and loneliness. And his name…_ _

__“Henry,” Victor sobbed. At no other moment had he desired so strongly to be entangled in another human being. Yet it was Henry he’d sought—Henry he’d tried to hard to push to the back of his mind. Being that he’d seen him so recently, the memory of him was more vibrant than ever. He could picture himself holding Henry like he might picture Henry holding him. He could recall the intimate exchanges in the dark of their shared room, where Henry would frequently fall apart and ask to be put back together. Instantly it seemed as if Dorian could never be enough to please Victor, though he had been so much more than Victor could ask for up until the moment he allowed Victor to ask for more._ _

__Then he quickly secured his grip around Victor’s cock, and began tugging at a pace that Victor had been denied by what his hips alone could achieve. Dorian whispered moral support. He inclined Victor to _say it again, please, say it again_ until Victor was overworked, honestly crying and muttering the name _Henry, Henry, Henry_ repeatedly until he released over his stomach and chest. _ _

__Dorian made no effort to catch the mess. His spend would mix with the water surrounding them._ _

__The climax lasted a brief minute before Victor was overcome with grief, knowing he’d reached his orgasm thinking entirely of Henry. For probably the first time in his life, he decided not to stop his tears from falling. He turned his face into Dorian’s shoulder and wept like a child._ _

__If this was to be his truth, he would try to accept wholeheartedly. Only after that dawning realization could he comprehend how consumed in fear he’d been since the last day he’d spent with his mother. And he felt nothing but shame toward himself for it all._ _

__Shame, which manifested into anger and violence. Shame, which hurt others as much as it hurt him. Lily and Proteus… and his firstborn. How he stole Brona Croft from this world without her consent. How he lied to Ethan Chandler when he said that she went naturally. All of these things heavy and soaked in shame._ _

__This was to be their first, but it had been made into something entirely Victor’s._ _

__Dorian nudged Victor’s head until he could not hide in the bend of his arm, where Dorian could not see his tragic puckered face and hear his gasps. If he was asked, he could not explain why he was crying. Luckily, Dorian did not ask that question. Instead, he innocently questioned, “Did I do something to hurt you?” He asked it in a way that implied he was directing it not toward Victor but toward himself. Victor did not want to look at his expression, but he imagined that Dorian had on his typical open look, seamless, mouth slightly ajar and eyes mischievously content. Though he loved Dorian, he suddenly hated that look of his._ _

__“Victor?” Victor rolled his neck back and gazed at Dorian through the tops of his tired eyes. The suspected look wasn’t there. It was replaced with worry. Something similar to _I’m sorry_ lingered on Dorian’s lips, but he stayed unsaying, only hoping that Victor might understand if he looked sorry for a long enough amount of time._ _

__They didn’t speak any more after that point. Victor left Dorian in the lukewarm bath as he wrapped himself in a linen sheet and scurried off to his new permanent bedroom, where he crawled under the sheets of the bed and vowed to sleep, the only sure method of slowing his thoughts._ _

__Dorian joined him soon after, still not speaking, but he crept next to Victor under the sheets and then climbed atop him. He grabbed Victor’s hips and rolled him onto his stomach. While Victor could not see what was happening behind his back, he burrowed completely under the bed sheets and kneaded Victor’s ass, shamelessly spreading his cheeks and connecting his mouth with the ring of muscle between. Victor did not know to anticipate this development, but, like the last time, he did not immediately object. He figured that Dorian knew best what to do in their given situation. He trusted Dorian, still. He probably always would._ _

__Victor began to enjoy the receiving once he came to the realization of how enthusiastically Dorian enjoyed the giving. It was undoubtedly strange, but not unpleasant, and Victor needed the warmth of a soft mouth like he needed air to fill his lungs. Dorian ground his bare hips and cock down on the backs of Victor’s legs and the plush mattress beneath them. Eventually, Victor took the initiative to pull Dorian up to eye level, and he kissed him without an ounce of the disgust or aversion he might expect from himself. Dorian tasted like something, oddly enough, and that something was a part of Victor._ _

__Dorian got off on fucking the dip of Victor’s ass and thighs and back. Victor let the other rut against him while he tried desperately to reach Victor’s mouth all at once. Their faces never once detached. They breathed each other and rutted and slotted their limbs together in every which way until Dorian spilled over the dimples on Victor’s back._ _

__When Dorian finished, he sighed into Victor’s hair and then rolled off of him, not thinking to clean up after himself and leaving Victor a mess. He felt that it was a relief to be used for somebody else’s gain. After such an incredible delay, Victor wanted to receive praise for how resilient he had been, for how much good he had brought to Dorian, finally._ _

__They fell asleep wrapped up in each other, like usual except stickier, slicker, with the sweat on their backs still drying from all of the events of the night. For once, Victor seemed to have no fear of the unknown, because it had all been lived through and none of it had been unpleasant in the least. Him and Dorian were now completely entangled in each other’s stories. He loved Dorian for that. He wanted to spend every day with him, despite whatever silly thing it was that he confessed to earlier in the night. It would amount to nothing in a short while. After that, they could reforge their routine… and things scary and gigantic would never have to seem unconquerable to them. Victor hoped this wasn’t wishful thinking._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this chapter is really something. As I type this it's 2:30 AM and I have to be at work in some 6 hours. Sometimes I truly despise myself. Still, I was sooo enthusiastic about getting another chapter out that I pushed through and now here we are. Hopefully it's satisfactory!


	5. passivity pt.5

Victor loved Dorian. He loved Dorian deeply, deeply, deeply… beyond any doubt. He was enchanted by him in ways that he had never imagined himself driven toward another person before, and he now counted on him being in his day so he could function regularly. How quickly he’d learned to rely on such a polar opposite of himself frightened Victor. He did not believe that any two people were ever created to be halves of a whole, but that often seemed to be the dynamic between them. Regardless, he loved Dorian sincerely. Without the other, he would be dead from boredom by now.

He loved Dorian despite sometimes seeming a stranger to him. He knew very little about Dorian’s upbringing, which was one topic that turned him into quite a sullen subject, and he barely asked for clarification on personal details when needed. Victor was not adept at communicating these things. Him and Dorian were mostly quiet, which was something that Victor celebrated in their relationship, since it meant that they had very few clumsy encounters. The understanding between them was entirely nonverbal. They could share a glance and immediately know what the other was thinking. That was because they were _in love_ with each other, deeply, deeply, deeply. Like something of a great poet’s imagination.

And he understood how resolutely charming Dorian could be for all people and not just him alone. Victor was not so unattached from the present world that he could be so foolish as to not notice… he saw how utterly captivated Ms. Ives appeared whenever she spoke of the (seemingly) young man, and he sympathized with the impassioned Lily when she seemed to choose Dorian over himself. Intuition, and observing the hidden parts of other people from beneath the facade, was Dorian’s most acute superhuman ability. Even Mr. Chandler was rumored to have been persuaded by it—his intuition, _and_ his sensuality. The man made a habit of bedding any person who would permit him their time and body. The thought of him even touching Mr. Chandler made Victor snicker, but then, Victor would never have expected himself to be completely consumed by that sensual energy as well. Wherever he went, Dorian was certain to be the center of all attention. He demanded the love of others. Victor was one of many who were subject to Dorian’s attempt at newness.

And Victor understood this and was hesitantly accepting of the fact that Dorian might never be _his_ completely. While he truly loved Dorian—which statement he believed in wholeheartedly—he also needed not to be bound to him in a way that neither of them could tolerate. Victor sought the ease of coexisting, cohabitating, benefiting from one another in a strongly spiritual sense. His concept of love was without borders. Victor believed that what he was feeling was the most potent of all passions, and yet not so overwhelming that he felt any less himself than before he’d met Dorian. He was strengthened by his passion for the man. To willingly submit his fragile spirit to another person was indicative of personal confidence. He felt freer than ever before while simultaneously trapped within that massive enigma of nothingness that crept outside their doorstep. The apocalypse had taught him quite a bit about himself, luckily.

The most pertinent lesson was the one wherein Victor learned not to restrain himself. Where there was love and nothing else, only good could come to that place.

Though, while Victor _loved_ Dorian, he now _longed_ for something much different than their home, his laboratory, his exhausted studies, his satiny sheets or his lover’s skin against his own. These things were superior to the simple person he was. What he wanted was not far beyond reach, but impractical due to the fact that so much in this world had changed that it was practically beyond recognition. This world allowed him no space for wishful thinking.

Where had London gone? At once it was a nightmare town, and since then had become even more of a hellscape. It did not take long for most people to forget about the Ripper once night took permanent hold. And now Victor was focused primarily on his personal relations? What was wrong with him that he could manage to care about falling in love at a time like this? When Victor saw himself in the mirror, he turned away from the sight. His eyes were sunken and skin was gray with malnourishment. Who was he to think himself desirable in this state? Who was he to demand even more than he’d been given? He would be more comfortable if only shame took hold of him instead, and he forgot every earthly aspiration of his and laid himself down to sleep, to finally rest… he was having these sorts of dark thoughts again. He had no drug to dull the thrum of pain. Victor’s heart swelled… why would he dare to want Henry when he had only recently uncovered such an incredible romance with Dorian?

They spoke of the new dilemma while half-asleep in bed, some time between night and morning.

“Oh, my sweet, your lust for another could never wound me,” sang Dorian, assuring Victor that there would be no animosity between them now that he knew Victor’s truth. After all, it was his fault for pushing Victor that the man even admitted those underlying feelings in the first place. Clarifying, he said, “It’s that I’ve experienced so much of life that I desire nothing of a romance like the ones in stories. Simply to love others and to help them strive toward what their heart begs is plenty to satisfy me.”

In his age, Dorian had had more than a few whirlwind romances—and he’d lived to see all of those lovers turn to worm food, sometimes even taking their lives for himself. There was no end to Dorian’s hunger and greed. Victor was just beginning to understand this complicated aspect of him. Regardless, he thought this philosophy of selfless love was too morally upright for a man such as Dorian. But Victor would play along with his silly game. 

“And what if your love is rejected?” Victor asked. He was curious to know if Dorian would answer truthfully… not that Victor would ever think to reject him.

“Rejection such as what Ms. Ives showed me? It hurt a deal, but I will recover from it.” This reminded Victor of an earlier conversation they had had about how fascinated Dorian was by Ms. Ives’ unusual spirit. With the majority of people he met, Dorian could draw much from their appearance alone. Vanessa Ives was a separate entity from her body; the way she dressed or wore her hair had very little to do with the world inside her head, it seemed. She was quite beautiful, but also quite intellectual, and quite soulful at that. Victor agreed with all of this. He, too, had been tangled in a strange fascination over the poor woman. She had always seemed to want the best for him, and was outwardly empathetic of all his worse faults. She was a mother—and lover—of all strange beasts. Outcast people were naturally drawn toward her.

So, Victor could understand how much Vanessa had once meant to Dorian, and he had no fear of the other having any obsessive or violent tendencies to match his own. That was good; Dorian was a _good_ person, at least according to appearances. So many thoughts ran through Victor’s head, though he knew better than to speak—for Dorian was so content in this moment, close to a lover, that he might never recuperate if he was forced to consider such quandaries as _Could you possibly believe in true love?_ He knew that if he let these thoughts go unspoken, they would eventually turn into white noise as he drifted off to sleep. Besides, he himself did not believe in true love. He figured it was wise to assume the same of Dorian. What him and Dorian had was something mutable and constantly in progress. _Fate_ had not brought them together… if anything, every ungodly thing done to alter fate was what initially guided them. Nothing about these circumstances was prophetic.

The stock of non-perishables was nearly done. Their past week was spent mostly on bread and preserves, and Victor was beginning to see the effects of more drastic than normal weight loss, though it admittedly may have only been in his pained imagination. At this rate, he was due to start using morphine again if only he had any idea where to restock it. Doctor’s perks included access to all clinical devices of death. He made a mental note to contact the suppliers he knew before turning over in bed. 

Victor’s parting thought as he fell into sleep again was: if Dorian might never die, then why should Victor want to leave the other (he cynically mocked those words—his _other half_ )? His newest research allowed him confidence that he might live well past his lifetime if only he did another ungodly thing to reshape his destiny. What was ultimately keeping him from going the final step?

The veil between the living and the dead was only becoming thinner with every passing moment.

Victor and Dorian skipped breakfast and woke in the afternoon, only to cuddle into one another and cherish the wickedly peaceful moment. They had no friends left. They had no aim. The only thing left worth living for was each other. The intrinsic need to fight for survival was finally beginning to kick in. Victor was still tired and became overwhelmed with sadness, so he wept again, which he seemed to be doing frequently nowadays, and Dorian only stayed still beside him and let it happen. It was unexpected moments like this when he felt most helpless.

“Why does this not overwhelm you?” asked an irreparably broken version of the passionate, youthful Victor that had quickly forgotten his own identity. His only passions were drifting from him. Even Lily seemed a distant memory. He needed more of everything—but could not possibly have it.

Dorian opened his eyes hesitantly. “You have never asked me if I am overwhelmed.” The tone of his voice implied that Victor was a fool, which was not untrue.

Victor scoffed. “Well, you certainly do not act like it.”

Dorian turned upright, leaning his full weight onto his arm that rested against the mattress. One of his fingers on the opposite hand traced the rigid silhouette of Victor’s face. His skin was still puffy and agitated from salty tears. Dorian’s master bedroom, which they now shared more often than not, was much more expansive than the guest bedroom and dimmer because of it, like an ill-lit cavern, so Victor appeared to be little more than the shadow of himself. Dorian imagined this scene bound within a frame. The chiaroscuro suited Victor’s haunting elegance. 

“Are you bothered by my demeanor?” Dorian sincerely asked the other. He had never had to police his own behavior before because he could be quite an agreeable person when he chose to be. Dorian was not very adept at concealing himself. Aside from the obvious secrets, he preferred to bare all to anyone who would accept him—and most of the people he surrounded himself with were quite accepting of all types. He accepted Victor promptly because acceptance was an intentional behavior from him.

Victor finally shifted, turning his face toward Dorian so that it was drowned even deeper into darkness. Both pitied not being able to properly see each other, tear streaks and all, though the setting was undoubtedly beautiful. “I am not bothered by any part of you,” Victor offered.

“Hm. Is that true?” Dorian asked flirtatiously. Victor shook his head in mock disapproval.

“Don’t tease me.” He huffed. “I’m attempting to be sincere.”

Dorian smiled and crouched over the somber shadow to kiss its nose, puffy cheeks, eyelids, chin and mouth like blindly mapping out the expanse of its face with his lips. His kisses were chaste, and the skin tasted stale. Victor had not strayed from his one spot all evening long and he did not intend to leave it now that morning had come. The blanket that covered both of them rolled off his shoulders as Dorian moved on top of him, and Victor involuntarily shivered.

“And I enjoy it,” he commented on Victor’s newfound sincerity, and dragged his hungry mouth over cold shoulders. “What more sincerity do you have to offer?”

He wrapped the blanket tightly around the both of them and then caged Victor’s head between his arms—a gesture which implied that he wanted Victor to be comfortable, to be primed so that he might take whatever was up for taking. Victor would give anything willingly.

Yet he did not care much for flirtatiousness… at least not in his current mood. What he felt was helpless. He glanced up and down at Dorian’s devilish eyes and lips, then could not deny his true desire. “I want to understand what you are,” he said. Dorian bit his lip, but his eyes did not change. In an instant, the devil had pulled back the blanket again and was instructing Victor to get out of bed at last and follow him. He complied. To be charitable, Dorian dressed the other in one of his expensive robes. It looked slightly ridiculous on Victor, but he was grateful for the needed warmth. At least a walk would prompt his blood circulation.

Dorian took Victor’s hand as he lead him eagerly down the staircase. He showed the other a passage hidden behind a portrait, not unlike Victor’s mysteriously moving cabinet. They walked through a hall of mirrors, and though the structure of it was quite stunning, Victor avoided seeing himself within them, for fear that he would be embarrassed by the sight of himself beside Dorian. At the end of the mirrored hallway was an open area. The small chamber was empty aside from an upright frame draped in fabric. Dorian acted to be notably excitable by then, and Victor thought not to question it—after all, they were amidst something spectacularly strange.

“Are you frightened, darling?” asked the giddy Dorian. He was not prepared to comfort any scared soul.

Victor was still attempting to digest his surroundings. It surprised him to know that Dorian was keeping a secret so massive in scale, but only to an extent. He would not hold any size secret against him. “Frightened? No.” He scanned the room for details. “ _Curious_? Yes.”

They exchanged a look of joyous wonder. Dorian lead Victor by the wrist again to the front of the covered painting. 

He positioned Victor by his stiff shoulders, facing toward the drapery and whatever was behind it. He said: “Then let me divulge you in something so frightening that even Victor Frankenstein will cower at it.”

Dorian took the edge of the fabric and slowly removed it from its place. What appeared was… a man, not entirely unlike either of them. He was gray, sickly, old and sad and bound by chains. The portrait showed great loneliness. It reminded Victor of his firstborn creature, who was born into this world screaming. Victor was not horrified, but reminded of his unbearable sadness.

“Who is he?”

“ _That_ ,” began Dorian, pointing toward the ghastly corpse in the portrait, “is all of my worry, my guilt, my hurt and my rejection; and it is my indeniable ugliness.” Victor placed a hand against the flesh of the gargoyle looking back at him, and was surprised when the paint almost effortlessly flaked off into the palm of his hand. Dorian hissed in disapproval, but did not make any effort to stop him. “ _That_ is who is affected by fear, not I,” he explained.

Victor looked quizzically at the man. “How does it work?”

“I do not understand it myself.”

Victor removed his fingers, trying his best not to further damage the painting. He cursed himself for being so inquisitive that he was made irresponsable by it. “But what does it do?”

Dorian smirked because Victor was not reacting with horror, only intrigue, and it set him apart from most people who would run screaming if they ever saw the atrocious sight that he was being subjected to. “It holds part of my soul. In fact, it is probably more me than I am myself.”

Victor glanced first at Dorian then at the portrait. He was trying to wrap his mind around something that was almost completely nonsensical. Dorian did not stop him from trying. “And so that is why you do not die… because this _thing_ dies in your place?” That much was true, but Dorian had never considered the perspective that his portrait was indeed _dying_ because of his reckless stupidity. It made him pity the torment of the poor fool who locked his mortal soul inside a caricature of himself. He was a greedy bastard.

While Dorian smiled and proudly bared his secret, Victor had another innocent realization that might get his limbs torn off: “And if the portrait is destroyed, you will go with it?” Something drastically snapped into action. Dorian grabbed him by the neck with a tight grasp and pulled Victor into his chest. Over Victor’s shoulder, he threatened him weakly.

“You are not to ever visit this room alone,” he stated.

But Victor did not fear him. If anything, he sympathized with him making his empty threats out of necessity, and saw the opportunity to playfully torment the other. “And what of it if I do visit alone?” Victor asked playfully. He liked having Dorian’s hands on him, and waited to see if his grip would tighten. It did not, unfortunately.

Dorian let him loose and spun him around so they could speak face-to-face. The young-looking man was much too pretty for intimidation tactics. “The last person who saw this portrait, I fed them poison and watched them die at the foot of it,” he spat.

One tiny quiver escaped him, but nothing that might convince Dorian he was anything but confident in his place. That being said, Victor was also quite a flimsy character, and not somebody one would expect to stand his ground in a regular fight. 

“Would you ever poison me?”

Dorian’s eyebrow quirked. “Do you think I would poison you?”

Victor almost immediately responded: “No.”

He smiled his usual cocksure smile. It was an expression that came naturally to him. “Confident man,” he sighed, then kissed Victor’s dry lips languidly, making sure to wet them with his tongue during the process. Their arms found each other naturally. Like kissing somebody he had kissed his whole life, Victor no longer feared intimacy at all. Dorian detached their mouths and just slightly nudged Victor away. “You think I like you too much to kill you?” he asked.

Between them an aura of warmth and loving protection grew, despite Dorian’s cold and threatening words. Victor did not fear him. He knew better than to trust Dorian, but his intuitive inclination was to be with and within him. For the first time, it was him who threaded his fingers into Dorian’s hair, who petted the small of his back and breathed the scent of his neck. All these simple intimacies were saved mostly for Dorian to give, rarely to receive. But Dorian’s presence made Victor confident. He wanted to show the other how confident he could be.

Dorian appreciated it so much that he stopped Victor and covered his portrait again, so as to not have the ugly thing watch them and only grow uglier. He hung the sheet atop it and stumbled back into Victor’s hold. There, in that secret chamber of their massive home, they danced around each other until Victor was backed against the wall and Dorian could easily remove both of their robes.

Victor stopped his hands from working too quickly. Dorian was high off the rush of exposing himself in a way he had done so few times before.

He was not entirely sure of his plan. Naturally, he would have to do something to Victor to ensure the other never tell his secret. He had not considered why the secret itself was so excruciatingly private in the first place, aside from the fact that it was something supernatural and terrifying and impossible to comprehend. But no other person aside from Lily had accepted Dorian’s truest form and also believed the story he told to them.

This world would soon be barren. Dorian had never once stopped being lonely, and now more than ever before could he use the company of a sweet young doctor. 

Under all the concealed human thoughts and emotions, Dorian supposed he did care deeply for Victor in another way, as well. The boy was too smart for his own good. He was something of a god, having created life out of nothing but electricity. He could also be finicky and stubborn, though Dorian knew best of all people that he was a truly submissive person; someone who aimed primarily to please others who he thought deserved his respect and diligence. Dorian was proud to be one person who Victor wanted to do good for. If he was more seasoned at giving praise, he might praise Victor just to see him respond happily. 

And Victor was family, now… Dorian had assured that much the very moment he decided that he wanted the poor man by his side every waking moment. They shared one life. They shared one lack of aim, one misguided purpose. They loved each other, mutually, but very different.

Dorian loved Victor. He loved Victor deeply, deeply, deeply — beyond any doubt. The bare amount or mystery needed to keep them going on their languid journey together remained foggy in the future. Without the fascination they had toward each other, the dark would sooner consume them than they could find a different motivation, devoid of love.

Perhaps survival would come more naturally to loveless people, if only such a thing existed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats on making it to the end of part 1! I am honestly astounded that it's only been 5 chapters because it feels like I've been working on this for a million years. However, I have so much great story waiting to happen, and a significant part of it has already been written and hopefully will be quick to upload. Thank you to the small audience of awesome niche fans who have been reading and commenting on this 2-years-late Penny Dreadful fic that rose out of nothingness and is amounting to something really impassioned and convoluted. I haven't ever even attempted to complete a long chaptered fic, but this story was begging me to be told, so here we are. <3 Thanks again for being sweet and supportive.
> 
> Part 2 is called 'Cambridge' and it shouldn't take a lot for one to guess what that implies. Jekyll fans, be excited!


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